Hopping Trains
by Victoria Quynn
Summary: The first time the boys got separated. From the deep recesses of the vault.
1. Chapter 1 -- Away

Hopping Trains

…..

_Does the road wind up-hill all the way?_

_Yes, to the very end._

_Will the day's journey take the whole long day?_

_From morn to night, my friend._

…

_But is there for the night a resting-place?_

_A roof for when the slow dark hours begin._

_May not the darkness hide it from my face?_

_You cannot miss that inn._

…

_Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?_

_Those who have gone before._

_Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?_

_They will not keep you standing at that door._

…

_Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?_

_Of labour you shall find the sum._

_Will there be beds for me and all who seek?_

_Yea, beds for all who come._

…

_Uphill_, by Christina Rosetti (1861).

…..

Jed! Jed!

The words rang within the depths of the boy's dreams.

Startled awake, he blinked furiously to focus. The grey light of early dawn filtered in through the boxcar, the cracks and crevices much like it used to be in the old family barn. But, with the dirty hay laying around and the few stalls empty, no stock was lately here.

Rubbing sleepers away, he surveyed the scene further. In the dim light, he could just make out splintered, rotted, grey or brown boards weathered beyond a useful life. Some were newer, sturdier, and still others maybe fresh from the saw with a faint scent to match, having been recently but not carefully hammered into place.

He sat up. Dirty fingers combed through greasy curls the color of marigolds, or perhaps now, wet sand. The hair was long, too long. His ma would have taken scissors to it, especially now, with the summer and all.

His clothes stuck to him. Once sturdy and soft, but now holey and damp, he needed new ones. How he missed the fresh scent of a shirt as he buttoned it, of a sheet as he nestled into a soft bed, of his mother's air-dried laundry.

There was no movement. All was still; the sounds of the night long since put to bed as dawn wound its way to sunrise. He took it all in: silence, deafening silence. His own slow motions rustled softly: a piano. He coughed: a crescendo. He stilled himself, and shuddered at the quietness.

He was alone, and tried not to feel lonely.

He rose and stretched; the sore muscles reminiscent of a fitful sleep—or had it been? He seemed rested, maybe. Yawning deeply, shaking out the soreness, he did still feel weary.

His stomach rumbled. A sensation tickled his throat. Hunger? Two days since their last meal—no wonder! He frowned. Being on the run could make one forget food, even him.

Moving toward the door, he peered out the narrow crack. Another little while perhaps before the sun rose. Dare he start for the next car?

Wait! What was this place? Fencing, lots of it, spread ahead, as far as he could see. Stockyards. A sign–Kansas City. Behind him, the river. Understanding set in. He was in Missouri!

Of a sudden, he heard a voice. "The cars in front are all clear. I'll check the ones in back."

Jed panicked. Eyes darted. Where to hide?

A few minutes later: footsteps. The door slid open; creaky, rusty. Pa would have taken oil to the hinges.

Then, more loud creaking, sliding, shutting, banging! It grew more distant as the man moved down the row.

More time passed. Jed stayed where he was.

Another loud voice called, "See anything?"

"Nope. All's clear."

"Okay. Let's get some grub. We'll unload come light."

Then, again, silence.

Jed's tousled head peeked up through a dirty haystack. Pulling himself out, he sneezed, shook off the hay, and grabbed the sack with his too meager belongings. Drawing the string tight, he pulled it up one arm and let it hang from the back of his shoulder. He stepped to the door; no one was about.

He had to get to the next car and find Han, but, wait! The man's words played over in his mind: All's clear. All's clear. All's clear. But, how could that be? Okay, yes, Han had to have hidden himself just as Jed had.

Last night, under cover of twilight, the boys had run for the train as it pulled out. Grabbing the threshold of one car, Jed pulled himself up, turned, and reached out a hand to help Han. Then the train speeded up.

It played through his mind. With Jed's car and his outstretched arm now out of reach, Han had rushed for the next car, grabbed hold, pulled himself up just before the train wound round a bend. Han's car disappeared from Jed's view.

Jed willed himself calm in the rush of adrenaline from the remembrance of last night. He jumped down. Keeping close to the shadows, he moved stealthily to the car behind. Looking around and still seeing no one, he reached up, pulled the door aside, heaved himself up and in.

He froze. The car was empty: no stalls, no hay, no Han.

Worry smothered him, but he soldiered on, checking the next car, the next, the next, all down the line. Nothing. Try as he might not to, tears burned his eyes and stained his cheeks. He wanted to shout–NO!–but held his tongue. There must be some explanation.

Han had made it, hadn't he? He had to …

The stuff of his fitful dreams reverberated through his being. In them, Han was lost and called for him. Jed prayed; please let it be only a dream! He trembled at the realization it might be true. His breath caught, but, swallowing hard, he steeled himself. He had to figure this out.

From the next track, he heard more voices calling.

"Okay, get those doors closed. We're behind schedule for Chicago."

"You heard the man. Fire that engine!"

As dawn's late light brightened the scene, Jed crouched as best he could in one of the few shadows remaining. Several moments passed. The train on the next track jerked; began to move, slowly. He gazed behind him. In the moments now just before sunrise, Kansas was visible across the river, just.

Chicago lay in the other direction; big city, gaslights on every corner, tall buildings, more people than he had ever seen. The brief thought excited him, filled his very marrow, palpated through his being, rushed every nerve. Hadn't they yearned for adventure? They had not cared in which direction the train went, just—away. And, Chicago was away, distant and beckoning, but still a long way ahead. It was to have been Han and Jed, together; not Jed alone.

Across the river, Kansas became more visible as the first rays of sunlight finally burst over the horizon. Han must still be back there. Had he fallen? Was he hurt?

"Watch out!"

Jed froze. The voice had come from down the track, echoing in the alley between twin trains in the yard, its urgency plain. Screaming, "Omer, watch out! Engineer, stop the train!"

Jed heard a sudden squeal of brakes, the plaintive wail of a whistle. Steam bellowed from the chimney, shrouding the approaching daylight as if a cloud had descended. The cacophonous, cymbal-like crash of iron on iron, shrill ululation, calls and screams abated as abruptly as they had started. The barely moving train screeched to a sudden halt. Fog enveloped the first rays of morn.

Momentarily faint, the boy took in a breath, not realizing he had held it. He heard a groan. The injured man must be near.

The same voice called, "Omer!?"

Jed looked to either side, stood his ground as the fog slowly dissipated.

A low moan. "O-ver here…" A soft sigh. "Help…"

It echoed in the boy's ears. Mindful of the need to be near invisible, and silent, Jed's heart thumped furiously. The thought of someone hurt made him recall a time when one of his older brothers had fallen from the hay loft after a wayward cow bumped the ladder he was on. Pa had dropped everything and come running, as had he. But, shooed out of the way, Jed still caught sight of the shattered leg bone breaking through skin. A compound fracture, the doc had called it. Thank goodness, the good surgeon had circumvented the need for amputation. But, how he had longed to help. He could hear his ma say, "Mind, stay outside. Feed the chickens. Do your chores." Anything but be in the way.

Summoning courage, Jed called, not too loudly, "Mister? Mister Omer? Sir?"

Another groan greeted him.

Louder, "Where are ya, Mister Omer?"

Moan. A whimper. "Who, who's there?"

Jed took a few steps in the direction of the voice. He replied earnestly, "Just me."

"Son?"

The boy reached the injured man. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead. A small pile of logs lay to his left. He had been lucky.

The man's voice trembled. "Is that you, Billy?"

A brow crinkled, before understanding smoothed it. "No sir. My name's Jed."

"Jed?" A pause. "You a friend of my Billy?"

"No sir." The boy knelt down and withdrew a shirt from his bag. Finding the cleanest part of it and spitting to moisten it, he gently laid it on the man's forehead. It quickly turned crimson. Jed grimaced, held the cloth firmly against the ragged wound.

"Argh!"

Jed remained calm. "Sorry, mister, but my ma always did this to stop the bleedin'."

The man's arm flailed. Jed grabbed his hand and held it. Omer relaxed. He said, "Thank you, Bill … Jed…"

The boy smiled. "No need for thanks, mister." Jed steadied the pressure on the cut. "Ya shouldn't be movin'. Stayin' still's best."

The man settled. Sad green eyes regarded the lad. "You look like my Billy. 'Bout the same age."

The sun radiated off Jed's countenance. There had been a Billy at the home, one of the boys who left him be, even when Han was not around.

Footsteps interrupted the little world.

The new arrival spoke. "Omer!" He knelt on the side opposite Jed. "Omer, you all right?"

The addressed nodded slowly. "Cray?"

"Yup." Cray moved Jed's hand away to get a look at the wound. "That coulda been a lot worse."

A sigh. "Yeah. Jed here done give me succor."

Cray acknowledged the youngster with all too brief a glance. "Now, you lay still and rest easy, Omer. Me and the boy'll get some help." He stood, towering over Jed, and scowled, "Where'd you come from? Come on, we got some talkin' to do."

The boy stiffened. Pulled roughly to his feet, he bent to pick up his bag. "Hey! What'cha doin'?" Unceremoniously half dragged a freight car's length away, Jed did what he could to keep up with Cray's long strides.

"Boy, I asked ya a question. Where'd ya come from?"

The youngster contemplated the ground. Two hands shook him.

"I expect an answer!"

The boy spoke softly. "Kansas."

"Speak up. Didn't hear ya."

His voice caught. "Kansas."

"Look at me when I speak to ya, boy!"

Jed gulped. He raised his head. "Kansas."

"Kansas? How the hell did ya … So we have a tramp here, do we? Lookin' for a free ride, are ya? Ya want free shelter, we got a nice little storeroom in the stationmaster's office which should suit ya just fine till the sheriff gets here!"

Adrenaline rushed. Jed sprang into action, stepping on the man's foot while twisting and bending to bite the hand holding him. Free of his captor, he bolted and ran.

"Hold it, boy!"

Jed crawled under a car and out the other side. Finally out of sight of his pursuer, he viewed the landscape. Iron rails and wooden box cars hemmed him in. Shadows fell. It was cooler now. Light did not penetrate the ironbound.

"Get that kid!"

"Where?"

"He's somewhere in here. Couldn't'a gotten far."

The boy could hear heavy boot steps tramping the railyard. He trembled. He had to get out of there.

Yet another train started, groaning those first few seconds down the tracks. Acting on instinct, Jed grabbed an opening. Hauled himself up. Fell inside. Lay on his belly. Dropped his head onto his arms.

Moist eyes looked up and watched the world rush by–away from the river, and Kansas.

And Han.

~~oo~~

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2 -- Stars

Chapter 2

He became aware slowly.

Shaking his head, Han opened his eyes and blinked. Blackness enveloped him, extending beyond the furthest reaches of his imagination. Was it midnight? Later? The depths of darkness drowned him in a muddle.

He focused as best he could to understand the situation. A half-moon shone enough ambient light to drown out the nearest stars. Those on the fringes of consciousness were visible—constellations to the naked eye, figments to the imperceptible.

He heard a whistle in the distance. Was it the wind?

First one thought, then two, seeped back to memory. Had he been running? It was still such a jumble. Yes, running. Extending an arm, but, missing?

Wait, there was more. He grabbed hold of something. A ladder? Something moving? Yes! A train—a freight car!

Another whistle chugged, yonder; not getting closer. Not the wind this time, or a moment ago. Someone? Where...? Ah, yes!

He yelled, "Jed!" But no one answered. Again, at the top of his lungs, "Jed?!" Finally, it dawned on him. He was alone. But, where was he?

Han peered around. His vision now accustomed to the dark, the half-glow of the moon did little to illuminate his surroundings.

He stretched. "Argh!" Pricks stung his skin and pierced his threadbare shirt, cloth catching, shredding the worn garment further. Reaching about for something to hold on to, he grabbed a handful of something and stung his fingers. "Owww!"

Underneath him, as far as he could reach—thorns, or what felt like them. He lay on something prickly, almost like the stacks of hay in the loft in the barn back home. How he had loved to put down the fork and lay in the haystacks with a book hidden there for that purpose. But this was neither warm nor sweet smelling.

As memories of home and family ran through his mind, he reached around further, trying to gain hold of something but getting stabbed at every turn. It hurt. He had started with his cousin and best friend's company, but, finally, it occurred to him: he was indeed alone. Tears welled in his eyes. It was okay because no one could see.

Covering his face with his hands, he held his breath and rolled. More pricks stung his bare hands and forearms, until he fell, hitting the ground with a thud. He lay still for several moments, trying to regulate his breathing and calm himself. Eventually, he looked up. The half-moon, no longer directly overhead, had gained a short distance in its western advance. Time would not wait for it, nor for him.

He extended his limbs once more. The aches from a myriad of small injuries took his breath away, then subsided to a dullness. Rising carefully to his knees, he shut his eyes against the exquisite throb in his head. Battling through the acute clutter in his mind, he slowed his breath and slowly pushed through the pain.

He did not think he had lost consciousness—not for more than a minute, anyway. He was dazed, definitely, but memories jogged him—running for the train with Jed, grabbing hold of the lower rail of the ladder on the freight car, struggling to hold on. Then, the turn.

Yes, the turn. He had lost his balance and fallen at the bend in the tracks; that had to be it. And, catching sight of a faint glint of moonlight off what looked like an iron rail a couple yards away, he began to understand he had been thrown at a great velocity, if not a far distance. But, given that, how was he still here and not in the great beyond with most of his family? He trembled at the realization he had cheated the great sleep a second time. How, though? He was not a cat with the proverbial nine lives. Grateful, he sent a quick prayer to his Maker.

Prayer time over, Han's natural curiosity got the better of him. He extended a couple of fingers, and as expected, felt a sting. Ah ... nettles! A bed of nettle bushes by the side of the tracks had broken his fall. He smiled, knowingly; indeed, wryly. Life was not easy, so no bed of roses here. Instead, a fitting cluster of stinging nettles!

It made sense now. He had to think like a man; yes, he had had to think like a man for the two of them for too long now. But, wise as he was beyond his boyish years, he bit his lip and wiped his eyes with his sleeve: he just wanted his ma.

Shaking the thought, he scrambled to his feet. The glint off iron rails again caught his attention, almost mocking him. Ahead, he glimpsed the last light of the train in the distance as it wound its way down the tracks to Missouri and disappeared. Surely another would be by tomorrow? He could only hope.

But here, now, looking for other alternatives, he circled but saw nothing but more dark in all directions but up—and that was not an option. He was a clever and somewhat sensible sort, or so his ma and pa and schoolmaster had told him. He had swelled with pride at the praise then and smiled at the memory now. Hmm, what had he done when lost and terrified a few years ago that enabled the searchers to find him? Yes, that's it, he had stayed in place and waited. Another train would turn up, and so would Jed. Of that, he was hopeful.

Flush with that faith, however tenuous it seemed, he sat down. The stars would keep him company, as would anyone else who might watch.

~~00oo00~~

Han rubbed his eyes, wiping away the sleepers the Sandman had left. He must have dozed off.

He looked up. The half-moon, having won its race to the west, had set. Clusters of stars brilliantly bright against a now black sky sparkled like jewels he could only imagine, the stuff of buried treasure or raiment of kings of far-off lands; not something he would ever lay eyes on.

The same stars had set the course for explorers and pirates alike—those who ventured forth proving the world round, conquering new lands, discovering treasures untold; taking to sea in swift brigantines, massive galleons; trolling oceans, coasts, rivers, inlets.

Adventure stories a boy could glory in, the stuff of whimsy, coursing swift currents on a raft, risking life and limb, perilously hurtling off the bank of the local creek for wealth unimagined, riches aplenty, chancing all he held dear for a stab at fortune's fate—until Ma rang the dinner bell, far enough away but close enough to be heard.

Home.

And what of Jed? He would find him. He would.

Han thought of the nightmare Jed started having after they got to the Home for Waywards. In it, the youngster would wander away from the family farm and get lost. Frightened, he panicked, not knowing which way to go or in what direction to turn, until some with torches showed him the way. Jed never could tell Han who they were, just beings shadowed behind the glowing sticks they carried, all pitch and resin, ready for hours of searching, leading the boy back home, or attempting to.

Han had told the younger boy he would hold the torch now; he would guide them. To where, he admitted to himself, he knew not.

Waiting out the night, Han wished he might have such a dream. Perhaps he might find a clue to Jed's whereabouts. Maybe a sextant-guided ship searching in the night, following the Gemini twins Castor and Pollux in their journey toward Aurora's lair—Dawn—would bring them together.

Grandpa Curry had said the stars held other secrets. But what they were he never said, just winked. "Laddie, when ye're a wee bit older, ye'll understand."

Why did adults talk in enigmatic riddles? Ma and Pa for certain had no problem talking plainly when there were chores to do. Boys of a certain age were old enough, almost, to do a man's work, but too young to be taken into that confidence adults shared.

"Yeah," he said aloud with a smile, "when I'm a wee bit older …"

They had both grown some these last few years—physically, a bit; knowingly, heaps. But, with their families gone, they would have to figure the world out for themselves. Or at least Han as the elder would lead the best he could for both of them, traveling a path with Jed to, albeit, destinations unknown, as now.

The first inkling of pre-dawn light inched over the horizon to the east. That was the way the train had gone—traveling furiously into the blackness, the head lamps of the locomotive directing it into the mysterious dark as it hurtled forward, always ahead, heralding its arrival down the line.

Surely, those torch-like stars might lead him to Jed. For, with their former homes and families now but a memory, wherever they both were, now, was home.

~~00oo00~~

To be continued


End file.
